Oh Hi! We actually did not die.

In spite of thinking that the end.was.near. we somehow got over all that sickness and then I spent last week catching up on laundry and work and sleep and neck kisses on a little boy who couldn’t understand why I’d been so lenient the week before when he was frequently covered in foulness and that week I was expecting him to follow all of the house rules again.  It was, um, stressful – with the whining and the tantrums and the peeling his face off of the floor.  This week, however, has been much much better.

There are now officially 16 days until The Due Date and I’ve been considering putting a sign around my neck that says “March 20th – please stop looking at me like that.”  It’s not that I mind telling people, it’s just that it’s starting to feel like a quiz.  A quiz for which I have not studied.  My mind is so close to mush trying to work ahead on a bunch of projects that show me the money and trying to make sure that my pedicure is going to hold out until the contractions are at least 5 minutes apart that I barely have the cognitive time to pull up irrelevant information like a due date. 

Speaking of contractions.  Aren’t they wonderful?  They are a part of every single day, but even better, every single night.  And painful enough now to wake me up.  All the time.  And then I can’t fall back asleep without a trip to the bathroom.  And then I might as well go fold some teeny tiny socks because, you know, wide awake.   Somehow, I drift off again, only to be awakened by the seizing belly mere moments later.  Let me just say that if this little girl thinks she’s going to hang out in her current flat for much longer than her lease, I am going to sick the membrane strip on her (aka Gideon’s eviction notice).  On Friday we find out if any of this false labor has profited us some dilation or effacement (oh, please, oh please, oh please, oh please). I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime we are much content around here to hang out and play trucks, throw a balloon around and read. Mostly today he wants to read about the beh-bay.  Not baby sister, of course.  He wants to read about beh-bay Jesus.  That’s cool.  He likes the Bible.  Also, I thought he was starting to like Cinderella, but today after telling me he wanted to read it, he started saying ‘no’, slid off my lap with the book in tow, threw it into the hallway and shut the door.  He turned around, eyebrows raised and said ‘truck.’  Someone must have warned him about his man card.